One evening, just after the sky fell dark, I slipped into a dreamworld. The tattered library copy of Where The Wild Things Are sat on my nightstand, half the page corners bunny-eared. Every religion needs a bible, and I’d finally found mine. Max’s adventures replayed in my mind like a cassette tape, each visit more real than the last. To my twelve year old imagination, the moonlit waters and shadow creatures were the ultimate paradise. So, one night, much like Max, I embarked on an escape of my own to the land of wild things. 

  At first, I thought I was hallucinating the green curly tendrils, swirling like a storm in the dim lamplight. The longer I stared at the vines, the more vibrant their hue became against my bedroom walls. The oakwood floor fizzled and faded until a forest ground appeared in its place. Daisies, mushrooms, moss, and my favorite blue orchid blossoms sat overtop the grass like a maze. How did they get there? The corner shop florist had once told me that they didn't come from nature, but were created with artificial flowers and paint dye. I timidly pulled the bedcovers off, and I could hear my heart beating like a tribal drum in my chest. 

  The forest floor felt earthy and fresh underneath my bunny slippers. I leaned down to examine the flowers sprouting like wildfire across the room, following the trail of blue orchids. The sound of steady streaming water rippled by, and I turned my head to see the most alarming yet magnificent sight ever. The walls of my room were disintegrating into the ground, and suddenly I was no longer in a closed space of any kind. In fact, I don’t think I was on Planet Earth anymore. I was in a realm of my own imagination, free to indulge in blue flower fantasies or sail up the river brook at will. The stars illuminated the forest like a sky-high lighthouse, and I envisioned a boat to take me to the Land of Wild Things. As all the luck and magic in the world would have it, a boat identical to Max’s, right from the story book pages, appeared in the river.  

  I boarded the wooden plank with the confidence of an experienced captain. I’d never sailed before, but something told me I wouldn’t need nautical skills; my imagination was the motor for this trip. I envisioned the sailboat picking up speed, zooming through the darkness like a subway train. In the blink of an eye, I felt the river water splashing onto my face, the salty taste of freedom. I threw my hands up to the stars and thanked them for their guidance. The boat rushed faster and faster with the night time wind, and I peered over the golden guardrails. A school of rainbow-scaled fish swam alongside, like the ones I’d seen in Rainbow Fish. My mind was wide open, weaving together a world of my own. 

   The boat began to slow down near a small wooden dock with a sign next to it that read, The Land of The Wild Things. This must be paradise.

My bunny slippers were soaked from the waves, though they didn’t weigh me down as I walked off the plank. I could see a fire burning in the distance, surrounded by a pack of shadow creatures. Their laughter extended across the forestry island, the racket ricocheting like rockets off the trees. I edged nearer towards the noise, weary of the potential danger that lay ahead. What if the wild things wouldn’t welcome me as they had Max?

  Their spirit was infectious, like a song you can’t stop humming. The wild things were clearly musical creatures, and I couldn’t help dancing to the sound of their tribal drums. The fire became larger and larger, though the flames hadn’t grown at all, only my proximity to them. I felt the warmth of embers on my skin, hot enough to dry my river-drenched bunny slippers. The movement slightly paused for a minute, as though it dawned upon them that an outsider had entered their camp. The star shine and fire glow were enough for me to make out their faces against the blackened midnight. 

 Upon closer inspection, their faces were completely...faceless. In fact, their entire figures were blank shapes, nothing like the creatures from the story book. I stood there puzzled, twiddling with a handful of blue orchids. All their dancing and festivities had stopped dead, like someone had cut the cord off the oxygen. Then I remembered, this is my dreamworld! My imagination is their oxygen, directing their being into any shape I envision. I shut my eyes and let the ideas simmer in my mind for a few moments, reviewing each of my favorite characters. Who would I like to fire-dance with tonight? 

  The shadowy creatures began to shimmer, making the fire look dull in comparison. The mad hatter from Alice In Wonderland, Merlin from The Magic Tree House, the cat in the hat, and the pretty pixies from The Sleeping Beauty of my invention manifested into reality. All my favorite characters were suddenly gathered around the fire, more vivid than any illustration I’d ever seen. The mad hatter tipped his purple top hat towards me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and I curtsied back. We all began dancing at once! The night was much too dark, so I tossed my all-powerful genie hands in the air and the Good Night Moon appeared in the sky, illuminating our dance. One of the glitter pixies gifted me with a beautiful rose garland, fashioned out of ribbon and wildflowers. Merlin waved his wand rhythmically to command a hidden orchestra, adding sound to the still night. 

  I can’t tell you how many hours we spent dancing by the riverside, or how many others heard our joyfulness and joined in. Soon enough, there was a sea of Wild Things, some more defined in shape than others. Although I reveled in the power I held within my dreamworld, after some time my eyelids began to feel heavy. During my last waltz with the cat in the hat, my lungs began begging me to take a break. Slowly, I sank into the comfort of the orchid petals and foliage on the forest floor. A wave of surrender and relaxation coursed through my body, from my flower garland to my bunny slippers. The fire’s warmth faded, feeling their life force dying down. 

  I woke up with a start in my bedroom. It was the odd early morning hours, right before the sun rose quietly over the hills. The walls were restored back to the solid, impenetrable slates of grey that stood the night before. The forest ground was replaced with the original oakwood floors, not a trace of orchids or leaves anywhere. My beloved copy of Where The Wild Things Are sat looking slightly amused on the nightstand, well-aware of the magic within its pages. I felt around my neck for the rose garland, only to grasp at barren, perspired skin. Even if the trinkets from the night and luscious scenery existed only within the confines of my mind, I was sure of one thing; my thoughts were stronger than I knew, and capable of the most extravagant travels when opened.